by J M Alvey
Kadous provided me with a bowl and I put a meal together. I suddenly realised I was ravenous.
Zosime offered me a plate of seared lamb’s liver. ‘So we can concentrate on tomorrow’s final rehearsal?’
‘All we need is those rewrites,’ Lysicrates said.
I looked up, chewing a mouthful, and saw all three actors looking at me, expectant. Swallowing, I realised the day was still far from over.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Zosime and I didn’t work all through the night, but only because she insisted we go to sleep after I made a pass over the rewrites that changed the amendments we’d just made back to the version we’d had before that. Though I didn’t believe that until she fetched the discarded sheets of papyrus and invited me to see for myself. I apologised, meekly wrote out two fair copies of the scene as it now stood, and we went to bed.
‘What else happened while you were with Thettalos?’ Zosime asked as she snuggled close beneath our blankets. ‘What didn’t you want to talk about over dinner?’
‘Can I tell you later, after the performance?’ Hearing Demeas’ arm snapping in my dreams was the last thing I needed.
‘Whenever you’re ready.’ Zosime kissed my cheek.
‘I love you.’ As weariness washed over me, I vowed to put everything else aside until the play was over.
Hypnos must have decided that warranted his favour. The god of sleep blessed me with deep and refreshing slumber, though we only got a few scant hours before Kadous knocked apologetically on our door. When we got back to Athens I’d sleep in for a month.
Lysicrates and Menekles were pacing something out in the courtyard as Zosime and I came down the stairs. Apollonides looked on, sucking steam from his pot of steeping herbs. I laid one copy of the rewrites on the table for him and handed Menekles the other. Lysicrates peered over his shoulder.
For what felt like roughly half a year, the only sound was the subdued murmurs of the household slaves as they served us breakfast at Kadous’ direction.
‘Are you sure about this?’ Menekles’ expression made it clear that he wasn’t.
‘It would go down like a cup of vinegar at home, but we’re not in Athens, are we?’ Though Lysicrates was reserving judgement rather than offering whole-hearted support.
‘Telesilla had a hand in this?’ Apollonides looked at Zosime for confirmation. When she nodded, he shrugged. ‘Let’s see what the chorus make of it.’
I’d have preferred more outright enthusiasm, but I’d take what I was offered. ‘If we set off early, you can try a few runs through it before the singers arrive.’
Menekles was already silently trying his lines, looking for the most effective emphasis. As he looked up, half his thoughts were on the new text. ‘Let’s go.’
As we prepared to depart though, I realised I couldn’t put all yesterday’s alarms behind me. Alypos Temenid had more henchmen to whistle up than merely Demeas.
‘Kadous, you’d better come with us. Find someone you trust to bring us food at midday.’
As soon as I said that, I was struck by sudden doubts. Would this give some hidden enemy their chance to poison us all? But everyone else was ready to go, so I gave up, commended our lunch to Apollo’s vigilance, and we headed for the agora where we met Hyanthidas, Telesilla and Arion.
By the time the chorus arrived at the Sanctuary, Menekles and Apollonides were well on their way to learning their new lines. Hyanthidas and I led the singers through their songs and dances while the three actors went out onto the hillside. I saw them devising the gestures and movements around the stage that would get the very best out of my work.
I wished I could be out there, offering my own observations, but that wasn’t my place. I was also feeling the effects of so many late nights. The third time I yawned and stumbled over my dance steps, I didn’t need Hyanthidas’ pained glance to remind me that I was supposed to be leading the chorus. I concentrated on doing just that.
When a trio of Perantas’ slaves brought us baskets of food for the midday break, it became apparent that none of the chorus were leaving in search of refreshment today. My spirits rose as I ate cheese pastries and watched our singers sitting in small groups in the shade. They were all discussing some particular lyric or dance sequence to make sure they had a firm grasp on the vital details.
As I reached for a date and nut cake, I belatedly remembered I’d been worrying about some ill-wisher striking us all down with poison. Since no one was raving or vomiting, I decided it was too late to worry about that now.
Zosime came over to give me a cup of well-watered wine. ‘Are we going to rehearse in the performance masks and costumes this afternoon?’
‘Yes.’ I brushed crumbs off the front of my tunic and poured the first sip of my wine in a libation to Apollo before I stood up.
The chorus weren’t the least hampered by their costumes, confirming their experience as performers. The quality of the workmanship helped. The stage-skins covering them from neck to foot were closely woven and well stitched. The tunics that went over the body-stockings were simple and straightforward, little different to everyday Corinthian wear. Settling and adjusting the leather phalluses that distinguish every comedy from a tragedy took a little longer. Finally everyone was satisfied with his own particular angle of dangle, and I was glad that we’d decided to limit the more complicated comedy cocks to those of us already in the know.
Zosime brought out the basket of performance masks. My mouth went as dry as the sun-baked hillside as the singers tried them on and swapped them around, everyone looking for the best fit. No one complained of any discomfort, still less any burning sensations, and I silently offered Apollo fervent thanks that Zosime’s ingenuity had foiled the hellebore’s malice.
By the time we had finished our first complete run through and everyone temporarily shed their masks to take a drink, I was pleased to see Menekles and Apollonides smiling broadly. If this Corinthian chorus’ reaction was any guide, that rewritten scene would be one of the highlights of the play.
I must ask Hyanthidas what gift would show Telesilla our gratitude for her invaluable assistance. Later, though. Satisfied that everyone had quenched their thirst, I clapped my hands. ‘Right, let’s go again.’
We called it a day when Zosime informed us that the Sanctuary sundial showed the eleventh hour of the day had gone by. A contingent of the Brotherhood arrived to stand guard for one last night. None of the Brothers said where Thettalos might be and I didn’t ask. I didn’t want to think about anything at all except The Builders until the sun had set tomorrow.
The day of the play dawned fine and fair, with a breeze to keep our audience comfortable in their unshaded seats. A few keen families were already claiming the best spots available when we arrived well before the second hour of the day. A handful of the Brotherhood were guarding the seats of honour in the centre of the first three rows from encroachment, deliberate or accidental.
‘I suppose we need them here.’ Lysicrates was torn between resigned and resentful.
‘I’m more concerned with who else might turn up.’ Menekles was watching the road. ‘Sons of Heracles or Heirs of Hephaistos.’
‘No one will start any trouble today.’ Hyanthidas was certain. ‘Not with everyone here to see who’s to blame.’
Telesilla backed him up. ‘The hero cults want everyone to believe they’re devoted to their chosen patron and to serving their members’ interests.’
‘Everything they’ve tried so far has been mischief behind the scenes,’ I agreed.
‘Talking of which, let’s get a feel for the place.’ Apollonides looked at the stage building offering a backdrop to performances here. It was raised up above the dancing floor on a broad wooden platform. Ramps led to the stage on either side and we made our way up in unspoken agreement.
With the stage building behind us, and the dancing floor
with its altar to Dionysos below, we looked out at the broad half-circle of tiered seats built into the gentle slope of the land. So far, so familiar. The view when we looked beyond the seats was entirely new though, and I found it oddly disconcerting. We were so used to performing in Athens where the theatre seats rise in far steeper ranks, backed by the golden crags of the Acropolis, crowned by our city’s most sacred temples.
Here the Acrocorinth loomed, grey and forbidding in the distance, while the great Temple of Apollo gleamed white in the strengthening sunlight towards the south-east. The road heading northwards from the agora towards Sikyon ran right beside the theatre and the lie of the land meant I could see passers-by coming and going.
I wondered what the actors would make of such distraction during the performance but decided against asking. If they hadn’t noticed, the last thing I should do was draw their attention to something that might throw them off their stride. As it turned out, their thoughts were elsewhere.
‘There are our costumes and masks,’ Menekles said with relief.
I saw the Brothers who’d been standing guard at the Sanctuary were carrying the heavy baskets between them. Kadous and Arion hurried to meet them.
‘And Wetka.’ Zosime pointed at a cluster of figures just passing Glauke’s shrine.
I left the others to take charge of directing the Brotherhood to take the costumes around behind the stage and the scenery building. I walked down the ramp to meet Wetka who had gone straight to Dionysos’ altar. He was directing a slave to scour the limestone with a block of chalk to render it immaculate, and he had a basket, which held an elegantly painted pouring dish and an equally exquisite flask of wine.
‘Good morning.’ He greeted me with his customary half-smile. ‘Perantas Bacchiad will be here shortly. Once the rest of the Council have arrived, he will commence the day’s proceedings with appropriate prayers and libations.’
‘Naturally,’ I said politely. Perantas was paying for this entertainment, so it was only fair that his fellow Corinthians get their chance to applaud his benevolence.
Wetka continued. ‘After the performance, there will be fifty cattle sacrificed to Apollo and to Athena, and feasting in the agora at my master’s expense. You are invited to the private celebrations in the colonnade to the north of the temple, along with your chorus and their families.’
‘Your master is most generous.’ Corinth would remember our play and this day’s bounty for a good long while, whether or not they paid any attention to the plans for the Thurii settlement.
I wondered if it was really the colony in Sicily that prompted such enmity from Alypos Temenid and Philolaos Kypselid, or concerns closer to home. They would have to pour out their own silver to match Perantas’ largesse, or watch him reap a substantial harvest of immediate popularity and lingering allegiance.
Movement at the rear of the seats caught my eye. Brawny men were wrestling heavy amphorae from a series of handcarts. ‘The wine for the audience—’
‘—has been strictly guarded. The seals have been double-checked, and slaves have drunk samples taken at random without any ill effects. We are fetching fresh water direct from Glauke’s Spring.’ Wetka was looking past me towards the road. ‘Your chorus is here.’
I turned to see familiar faces saying their farewells to knots of friends and relatives by the entrance to the theatre’s seats. Other singers were already heading for the rear of the stage. ‘If you’ll excuse me . . .’
The Nubian surprised me with a broad grin. ‘Good luck!’
‘Thanks.’ I hurried after the latest arrivals.
The space behind the stage was bustling. Hyanthidas was checking over his twin flutes and their vulnerable reeds while the chorus helped each other into their costumes, with Kadous and Arion on hand. Apollonides and Menekles were doing the same for each other while Zosime and Telesilla assisted with Lysicrates’ transformation into the luscious, golden-gowned Egeria. The Etruscan matriarch’s wig, in particular, was a towering extravagance of chestnut curls and braids.
As I shed my own tunic and dragged on my stage-skin, I felt uncomfortably exposed in this open space in full view of passers-by, with a handful of the Brotherhood shooing away anyone looking too avidly curious. But the Corinthians were unconcerned and they were more familiar with performing in this theatre than any of us. I put my costume on and found the mask I’d earmarked as mine.
‘Before we begin!’ I shouted to get everyone’s attention. ‘After the play, we’re invited to dine with Perantas in the North Colonnade, together with your families, as a reward for all our hard work.’
The singers cheered, giving me reason to hope this new incentive would inspire their performance to new heights. Then I noticed Zosime standing still, a few paces from Telesilla and Lysicrates. My beloved was frowning, and my blood ran cold.
I went over, my mask in hand. ‘What is it?’
‘Two of the chorus aren’t here.’
‘What?’ I tried to count heads but that was impossible with everyone moving about. I clapped my hands. ‘Stand still!’
The chorus complied, and I swiftly tallied their faces against the roster in my head. I felt sick. Zosime was right. Two of our builders were missing.
‘Does anyone know where Eupraxis and Parmenon are? Does anyone know where they live?’
The singers looked uncertainly at each other and answered with headshakes and shrugs. I felt the breath catch in my throat. I tried to swallow but it seemed as if my chest was burning. I looked with horror at my mask, dangling from its straps. I hadn’t even put it on yet, so how could any lingering poison already affect me? I tried to take another breath but it was no good. Light-headed, I wondered whether I would pass out before my knees gave way. My legs felt as weak as a newborn lamb’s.
I wondered if the missing men had been bribed or threatened or worse to leave us so thoroughly stuck in the mire. Because this was a disaster. We had rehearsed every dance, every song, with a full complement of twenty-four. Everyone knew their place, and relied on the man beside him, just as every hoplite in a phalanx depends on the warrior at his shoulder. Gaps in either ranks, on the dancing floor or on the battlefield, could only mean disaster. Despite all our efforts, despite all our vigilance and contrivances, our enemies had finally succeeded in ruining my play.
Lysicrates was at my shoulder, forcing a cup of wine into my hand. ‘You’ve gone a very odd colour. Drink this.’
I gulped down a mouthful and as Dionysos is my witness, I didn’t even care if it was dosed with Colchis honey. Whatever horrific visions might follow, they couldn’t compare to this nightmare.
Kadous was standing watch by the corner of the stage building, to get a clear view of the road. He turned and called out. ‘The Council members have arrived.’
‘Telesilla?’ Zosime turned to the Corinthian woman and, to my utter disbelief, I saw a mischievous glint in my beloved’s eye.
Telesilla pressed her palms to her cheeks. After a moment’s stillness, she nodded. ‘I think so. Yes,’ she went on with more certainty, ‘we can do this.’
‘Do what?’ I demanded.
No one was listening to me.
‘All of you, into a ring,’ Lysicrates ordered the chorus. ‘Facing outwards,’ he scolded.
I don’t know if it was because he looked like their mother, but they obeyed with impressive alacrity.
‘Mind your backs.’ Apollonides dragged the costume basket into the centre of the circle. Menekles followed, carrying two masks.
‘You cannot be serious.’ Incredulous, I realised their plan.
‘What else do you suggest?’ Hyanthidas was already unpinning the shoulder brooches that secured Telesilla’s dress.
‘We know the songs. We know the steps.’ With Lysicrates helping her, Zosime was already half dressed in a spare stage skin. ‘We’ve watched enough rehearsals.’
�
�It’s not the same,’ I objected.
‘No, it’s not, but no one’s going to know.’ The Corinthian nearest to me was deadly serious behind his hilariously gurning mask.
The man beside him agreed. ‘It’s the only way to save the play, and I’ll be cursed before I see our hard work go for nothing.’
Resolute agreement ran around the circle, with an ominous undertone that promised nothing good for the missing singers when their erstwhile allies caught up with them. I almost hoped they had been cornered in an alley and beaten up. They’d need that sort of excuse for their absence.
I wondered if Kadous had seen enough rehearsals to play a part. No, that was a stupid idea. Corinthians were used to seeing women perform, even if there would surely be uproar if our stratagem was discovered. Putting a slave on stage would be something else entirely. That would be a scandal to render this surge of goodwill for Perantas worthless.
‘Will you help me with this or not?’ Zosime held out the straps and buckles of a red leather phallus.
A roar went up from the theatre seats on the far side of the stage building. People were cheering and shouting and stamping their feet.
Kadous called out again. ‘Perantas has arrived.’
A few moments later a cheer went up that could surely be heard in Lechaion. Someone must have announced the public feasting to follow the play. The uproar was followed equally swiftly by urgent shushing like waves breaking on a shingle shore. Silence fell and we heard Perantas making his prayers and libations to the gods.
In the stillness that followed, we heard the first notes of Hyanthidas’ lyrical, beautiful music inviting us onto the dancing floor. Lysicrates had secured Zosime’s comedy cock and someone else had done the same service for Telesilla. With their bewigged masks and baggy costumes, there was no telling the women from the rest of the chorus.
I tied my own mask on with shaking hands and turned to lead the singers out in front of the audience, to wait for our cue from the stage.